Hell Soul
by LJL
Summary: ABANDONED. Two hundred years after being changed into a vampire to fight Voldemort, Harry Potter fights alongside Angel to protect the world from the senior partners of Wolfram and Hart. Sequel to Sword of Gryffindor.
1. Old Ghosts

Even now, two hundred years later, the effects of Harry Potter's bravery can still be seen at Hogwarts and other places. Potter was one of the greatest heroes in the history of the magical world. He saved the world nearly single-handedly, only to disappear shortly thereafter under mysterious circumstances.  
But who was Harry Potter, anyway?  
Historical records of Potter's life and times at Hogwarts show that he wasn't always a seemingly invincible hero. Indeed, the earliest years of Potter's life were apparently spent living a slave's existence in his uncle's house. He slept underneath the stairs in a closet and did most of the chores of the household. He was unaware of his magical origins.  
Potter's first years at Hogwarts were turbulent, though not so much as his final years. It would appear that Potter was never blatantly ahead of his peers in any way except Quidditch, though he certainly performed far and above his classmates.  
No year in magical history is more analyzed than Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts; the year the Slayers came to Hogwarts and Voldemort was defeated. Records of the time are a bit sketchy; it was a chaotic year, with military forces camping at Hogwarts, the new Slayer training program experiencing its growing pains, and the students and faculty adapting to life at the castle with an enormous, constant threat looming over their heads. It is perhaps ironic that Potter's life was a jumble of failed attempts on his life by Voldemort, meaning that the idea of "constant threat" was nothing new to him.  
The defeat of Voldemort and his armies by Potter and the Slayers, as well as two garrisons of magical armed forces, is a day that no one to this day completely understands. Those who were there attest that it was Potter who finally defeated and killed the Dark Lord, but no eye-witness accounts have been found to this day. It is also known that Potter survived the battle, as several people were quoted as being absolutely sure of seeing him after the incident. Potter disappeared from Hogwarts shortly after the incident, and was never heard from again.  
Two people apparently knew the truth, or as much of it as was known; Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts and the man widely regarded as the most brilliant wizard in history; and Ginny Weasly, a young Slayer with whom Harry Potter was in love. Both refused to release statements on the events that lead up to Potter's disappearance, and both died maintaining that silence.  
So Harry Potter passed away into legend. Still, there are still today rumors of a dark young man with a lightning shaped scar that defends people from evil...  
  
The young man with mousey brown hair left the front of the room to sit down. From outside the window of the Hogwarts History of Magic classroom, hidden by shadow, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, sat and chuckled softly to himself. The little boy's name was Weasly, but Harry was willing to bet that there was more than a little Granger in his blood.  
Harry dropped down off the window sill, careful not to stray too far towards the light. His black trench coat, a piece of clothing that he'd picked up from Angel, billowed behind him, revealing the dark scabbard of the Sword of Gryffindor.  
Harry touched down softly despite the four story drop and ducked inside. He had one person to meet, real quick. Then, one more stop, and he was home free.  
Then again, this was home once.  
Harry still knew the inside of the castle well enough to find the hidden staircase to the Headmaster's office. When he approached it, he found the same stone gargoyle that had stood before the stairs when Albus Dumbledore had resided at the top of them.  
Harry thought for a moment - he didn't even know the new Headmaster's name, let alone his password - but after a moment, he thought of it. He withdrew the Sword of Gryffindor and held it out to the gargoyle. Instantly, the gargoyle moved aside, revealing the stairs.  
"Knew you'd be good for something some day," Harry kidded, and the Sword glowed briefly to show that it didn't like the joke at all.  
Harry ascended the staircase quickly. He paused, wondering whether he should knock at the door, but then decided that there would be no point. He flung the doors open.  
Harry was unsurprised at the shocked look on the headmaster's face. He was also unsurprised at how fast that look disappeared; very few fools got to this office. "Who the hell are you?" the headmaster asked.  
Harry grinned slyly. "You know me, Mr. Headmaster," he said in a low voice.  
The headmaster of Hogwarts looked at Harry for a long moment, attempting to deduce the identity of the intruder. Then, his eyes made the inevitable sweep up towards Harry's scar, and the headmaster gasped.  
"It can't be," he whispered.  
"It is," Harry said, shortly. He withdrew the Sword of Gryffindor from its scabbard once more, and turned the blade over so that the headmaster could see.  
"How...?" the headmaster asked.  
"You must have read the Headmaster's Diaries," Harry said. "And your...let's see...great, great, great, great grandfather must have known, as well."  
"I've read them," the headmaster replied. "But I didn't think that it was even possible that you're still around..."  
"I am...Professor Giles," Harry said, trying out the name after nearly two centuries of not uttering it.  
Magnus Giles looked dumbstruck. "I...I don't know what to say," he said.  
"You needn't say anything," Harry said. "I simply wished to say, 'hello', and be on my way."  
Harry turned to go. "Wait!" the headmaster yelled. Harry stopped and looked back. "Why are you here?" the headmaster asked.  
"Revisiting the past," Harry replied. He considered his next words for a moment, then amended the statement. "And putting a few old ghosts to rest."  
  
The Wizard's Archives at the Ministry of Magic were even easier to break into then the office of the headmaster of Hogwarts. No one even knew he was in the building before he was in the archive room.   
Harry walked into the large archive room, and the lights automatically snapped on. A panel slid out of the floor in front of him, offering him a cup of coffee, which Harry accepted with a wry grin.  
Harry walked to a table and sat. He knew better than to try and reach the volumes that lined the cavernous room; no person had been up amongst those stacks in the two centuries since the archives were rebuilt. Instead, in front of each seat was a large slot, big enough to accommodate a book of any size, and a grate over the slot.  
"Wizard Family Histories: W-E-A-S-L-Y," Harry said into the grate. "Late Nineteen Nineties."  
A large book shimmered into view inside the slot. Harry withdrew it and dusted it off, and read the cover: The Complete History of the Wizarding Families, Volume 24332326534.5.  
Harry opened the book, which he discovered covered every Weasly born between 1950 and 1999. Harry flipped the pages from the beginning until he hit a name that he recognized. Harry leaned closer, sipped his coffee, which was steaming, and read.  
"Arthur Weasly, born 1962, died 2048. Was Head of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office longer than any other person in the history of the British Ministry of Magic. During the first and second rises of the Dark Lord Voldemort, was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, headed by Albus Dumbledore..."  
And so on and so forth. As much as Harry had once cared for Mr. Weasly, he didn't much care to read the full, in depth profile on him, as it included such mundane details as the date of his first lost tooth and the time he built an electric screwdriver from scratch.  
The next Weasly in the book was, logically, Arthur Weasly's wife, Molly. Harry paid somewhat closer attention to Mrs. Weasly's section - he still remembered being there for her death...  
  
As Ron was asking Hermione a question about Veritaserum, Harry felt a sudden, sharp pain in his scar.  
Clutching it, he let out a small gasp. Ginny, noticing this, put a hand on the back of his head. "Harry, are you okay? Harry...?"  
Harry looked up. The look in his eyes was frightening. "Run," he said, softly.  
"What?" Ginny asked.  
"Run!" Harry yelled. "We need to get out of here!" Raising his wand into the air, he yelled, "Accio brooms!"  
As their brooms came zooming up, Hermione, disturbed, looked at Harry. "Harry, what is happening?" she asked, urgently.  
"I'm not sure," he said. "But its not good. Hermione...he's here."  
The three gasped. Harry's eyes still contained that frightening glimmer. "Get out of here! As fast as possible!" he yelled.  
"What about mum?" Ginny asked.  
"I'll get her, now go!" Harry practically screamed, and he broke for the house. As he did, it blew up.  
"Mum!" Ginny yelled, tears coming from nowhere and appearing on her cheeks.   
"Ginny, go!" Harry yelled, again. None of them had taken off.  
"We have to make sure she's all right!" Ron yelled, and started towards the house.  
A voice from the flames stopped him in his tracks. "Oh, what's left of her is doing very well. Actually, at this temperature, I'm sure she's only at medium right now. Perhaps even medium rare."  
Hermione screamed as Voldemort, flanked by two Death-Eaters, immerged from the glow. Ron looked dead, himself.  
Only Ginny and Harry seemed to have retained their composure. Seemed.  
"Tom," she whispered. "I should have known that you would kill someone I loved."  
Voldemort looked down at her. His approach never slowed. "Do I know you, little girl?" he asked. Clearly, the usage of his true name had surprised him.  
"No," Ginny said. "I used to own something of yours...a certain diary," she said. Her voice was cold as a glacier.  
She came to stand by Harry, so that they were shoulder to shoulder, facing Voldemort.  
"Ah...yes, my diary," Voldemort said. "I had wondered what had become of that...I left in the care of Lucius, and he cared so little for my possessions that I feared he'd sold it...but I'm glad to hear that you, at least, benefited from it." He sneered at her.  
Ginny said nothing.  
Harry, instead, yelled back. "Never, never, say another word to her!" he screamed. He was losing it.  
Voldemort, grinning, sniffed at the air. "What is that I smell? Rage? Anger? Hatred? From the good, noble, Harry Potter? Come now, Harry - you don't really want to hurt me, do you?"  
Harry replied in a soft, dangerous voice. "Why don't you find out?"  
Voldemort's smile deepened. "I don't think so, Harry," he replied. "Not today, at any rate. I just came to check in, you know. Drop by, say hello, murder your best friends mother...what kind of mortal enemy would I be if I didn't do at least that?"  
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he was gone.  
Ginny stood, resolute, for about a second. Then, she collapsed against Harry. He held her as she sobbed into his shoulder.  
Two hours later, Tonks and Lupin found them, sitting in that exact same pose.  
  
Harry's reverie ended abruptly. It wasn't one of his fondest memories, but then, he had precious few fond memories of that year. Instead of dwelling, he went back to his reading.  
Mrs. Weasly's death was barely a footnote in the book. Harry was surprised about that. He searched the pages around the little paragraph, but found nothing more than this small note.  
  
Molly Weasly was killed by Lord Voldemort during his second rise to power. Near the end of the summer, the Dark Lord attacked the Weasly home, the Burrow, destroying it, in hopes of killing Harry Potter, who was staying there with friends. No others were killed in the explosion.  
  
Harry took another sip of his coffee, wondering why Mrs. Weasly's death was so...glossed over. Try as he might, Harry could not come up with a single good reason for it. It upset him...a little.  
He read on.  
The next entries were for the children of Arthur and Molly Weasly - the first being Bill. The entry went over all the things Harry thought of as amenities - birth date, education, etc. - all the things Harry already knew. What Harry didn't know was that Bill had eventually married and had several children of his own in the early twenty-first century.  
The next entry was Charlie's. Harry skimmed it; he knew mostly of Charlie's fate. He'd died a few years after Harry's departure from Britain, killed by the dragons he cared for. It figured.  
Harry flipped the pages of the book absently. As interesting as it was, and as much as he'd once cared for these people, there were only three entries here that he was really interested in.  
The first was Ronald Weasly's. Ron had done okay for himself. Harry had heard that Ron had ascended as far as Minister of Magic, but he'd never quite believed it until now, when he saw the title in print. Ron had gone into politics shortly after graduating from Hogwarts, vowing to help rebuild the magical world and protect it further from the forces of evil. He'd had a good, long life, and he'd done a lot of good. He'd died of natural causes at the age of ninety-eight.  
The next entry was Hermione Weasly-Granger's. She and Ron had married in their seventh year at Hogwarts. Here Harry paused, sadly thinking about missing his best friend's marriage. He read on quickly. After Hogwarts, Hermione had taken up teaching, and had eventually become the Headmistress of Hogwarts. Together, she, Ron, and the head of the Slayer Training School at Hogwarts, Buffy Summers, had strengthened and unified the British magical community, putting it back on its feet in aftermath of Voldemort.  
Harry smiled a bit. His friends had done great things, and yet, he was still the legend. A stupid kid acting on instinct gets to be a hero when people who committed and/or gave their lives for the sake of making others' lives better got shoved off into a dusty book that no one had even touched for two centuries. It didn't seem fair. It was ironic, though, and Harry had learned in his time as a non-murderous vampire that ironies tended to be the most abundant types of humor.  
He found that his hand was shaking as he turned the next page. Did he really want to know...? Yes, he did, but he was still terrified of seeing the words on the next page.  
There they were: Geneva "Ginny" Weasly.  
Harry read the passages that were the life of Ginny Weasly and felt his cold, still heart break several times over. She'd been amongst the survivors of Voldemort's attack on Hogwarts, and had gone on from there to be amongst the first graduates of the Slayer Training School. Ginny accepted every assignment given her by the Slayers. The assignments took her all over the globe. She'd died at age twenty-three, after dedicated years of fighting evil as a Slayer. She'd died in upstate New York, killed by a mob of engorged vampires.  
A single tear slid down Harry's cheek. Twenty-three...she'd died so young...and for what? To save a bunch of thankless people who didn't even know what was going on? It wasn't worth it! It couldn't have been!  
Harry slammed the book shut. His anger had flared for a moment, but it a quick death. His feelings for Ginny were still so strong, even though she'd been dead now for two centuries. He had to let go of it. That was why he was here, wasn't it?  
Why was he here, really? How could he put Ginny's ghost to rest, if she was still so alive to him? The words didn't do what he'd hoped they would. The emotion was still there.  
Harry looked down at the book. He came to his decision at last, and stood. He left the Ministry of Magic, bound once more for what was now home: Los Angeles, and Wolfram and Hart. 


	2. Antebellum

Los Angeles in 2196 was a study in technological advancement and cultural degradation. No one was completely sure when or where it started - most blamed the smog for no discernable reason - but as the twenty-third century approached, Los Angeles was a divided city. One half was a technological paradise, the other a scummy reservoir of old, barely working, rusty machines and equally scummy people.  
The advanced half is, by day, a bustling place of work for the upstanding business people of Los Angeles, and by night, a lighted nightlife experience not to be missed. Apartments and other housing in the "better" half of Los Angeles goes for a fortune. Things cost a lot. People there can pay a lot.  
On the other side of the tracks, which only exist still because no one cares enough to take them out, is the "lesser" half of Los Angeles, which consists of the poorer workers and their families. The crime rate is high. The poverty rate is higher. No one really seems to care, either, since the upper classes are secure in their technological wonderland only as long as the poor people are working to keep them there.  
No one is quite sure how this situation, much akin to the socio-economic structure of the Industrial Revolution four hundred years ago, arose. No where else in the United States - or the rest of the world, for that matter - is the gap between rich and poor so pronounced. Because of this, the state government has posted two garrisons of troops in south side Los Angeles to protect against rioting by the lower classes...  
  
- From Los Angeles Through The Ages, by Marshall Maxcom  
  
Wolfram and Hart lay smack dab in the middle of Greater Los Angeles. Harry always felt a bit uncomfortable out on technopolitan streets, but he could face down a bit of discomfort after all he and Angel had experienced fighting demons for the last two hundred years.  
  
Harry wasn't a traditional vampire by any stretch of the imagination, but like all vampires, he by nature distrusted technology. Now, at night in Los Angeles, the enormous buildings around him were lit with the latest developments to come out of the muggle world.  
  
As Harry walked through the street, he did his best to ignore what was around him. If anything dangerous came up, he'd sense it, but for the most part, he had no interest in his surroundings.  
  
But what surroundings they were! Three teens zipped past Harry on hoverboards, a metallic blue glow emanating from underneath, signifying the anti-grav jets that kept the boards aloft. The glow also showed the new McAdams-Lawless paved sidewalk, which was smoother and more weather-friendly than the old pavements. The holographic movie theaters showed enormous 3-D representations of what was playing - everything from children's movies to interactive adult films. The people who hurried past Harry in all directions generally held smiles. For them, the days' work was done, and now they were out to the theaters and clubs to have a good time and let the clean-up crews do their dirty work. Their clothing was bright and relaxed, making a sharp contrast with Harry's dark trench coat and loose-fitting Army-surplus black trousers. He was stopped twice by police - ordinary police on hydrolbikes, not the plasma gun bearing National Guard troopers who guarded Lower Los Angeles these days - because they thought that he was either there to rob the rich or because they simply thought that he must have lost his way. After a walk that Harry thought was much too long, he reached the Wolfram and Hart building.  
  
"Welcome back, Mr. Potter," he was greeted by the receptionist. Harry tipped his hat. All the staff had to make adjustments to the fact that Harry - who still possessed the body of a seventeen-year-old boy - was in fact at least four times their own age. Still, anyone in the employ of Wolfram and Hart had to make some adjustments from the average job. Harry jumped on a transfer pad and was, instantly, upstairs. He checked the console next to the pad to make sure that he was where he was supposed to be. It had taken him right where he'd wanted to go - top floor, executive offices. Harry walked the wide corridor quickly and, knocking and not waiting for a response, entered Angel's office.  
  
He was greeted immediately by Miriam Pryce. Somehow, Wesley's traits had been passed down almost directly to this one cute girl, who showed her blend of Wes and Fred in just about every way she could. Intentionally or not.  
  
"Hiya, Harry," Miriam said, somberly.  
  
"What...not thrilled to see me?" Harry asked.  
  
"Angel's convinced that we need to accommodate the Illiud delegates," she replied, shooting an icy stare back at the boss, who sat resolutely waiting to address Harry. "And their first demand is for a sacrifice of three virgins at the opening of the talks."  
  
"Afraid we'll put you on the list?" Harry teased.  
  
This finally drew a smile from the girl. "Who's to say that I qualify?"  
  
Harry looked at her frankly. "Miriam, you're only eighteen. You haven't even graduated from High School yet. Are you kidding?"  
  
"None," she said, patting the vampire on his nose, "of your business."  
  
She left, her grin of satisfaction at the look on Harry's face lingering just long enough to bewilder Harry.  
  
Harry turned to Angel and threw up his hands. "I was there when her grandfather was born," he said. "How is it that time passes so damn quickly?"  
  
Angel grinned. "Two hundred years into eternity and you're still asking that?" he rose to shake hands with Harry. "How'd it go?"  
  
"As well as could be expected," Harry replied. "It was all there, except the grave, which is here in the United States."  
  
Angel looked closer at Harry. "If it went so well, then why do you look like it did you no good?"  
  
Harry shook his head, tears threatening but far from falling. "I missed their lives, Angel," he said. "I didn't have a real family growing up, so my friends became my family, and I just...abandoned them. I missed my best friends' wedding. I missed their first child - they named him Harry, you know. I wasn't there to hold Ginny's hand when she died..."  
  
Angel nodded. "I know," he said. "But consider this: I ate my family. I didn't just lose touch with them, I killed them."  
  
"You didn't have a soul," Harry countered. "You had an excuse. I was just..."  
  
"Afraid," Angel finished. "Perfectly understandable. You didn't want to endanger them, and you very well might have there. No one in your old circle knew anything about being a vampire. Hunting and killing them, maybe, but not existing as one."  
  
"So I did the right thing?" Harry asked, bitterness seeping into his voice for the first time.  
  
"Yeah, you did," Angel said. "And we're both guilty of staying away, remember?"  
  
"You had good reason, too," Harry pointed out.  
  
"Not really," Angel said. "I should have been there when Buffy died."  
  
"Angel, the Haroug Riots were the worst wave of demon attacks in Los Angeles since the Beast," Harry argued. "If you'd left, we'd all probably be dead, and LA would probably be in ruins."  
  
"You could have handled it," Angel said.  
  
"Maybe," Harry said. "Probably not."  
  
Angel heaved a resigned sigh. "Well, helpful or not, you know that you can't leave LA again."  
  
Harry sharpened immediately. "It's happening then?" he asked, vicious anticipation giving edge to his voice.  
  
"Do you think I'd try to appease a bunch of bloodthirsty Illiud if it wasn't?" Angel asked, rhetorically. "My spy in the Rome office reported a full mobilization of their armed forces. He's not sure of the targets, but the troops are supposedly headed for Gaeta."  
  
"The coven there?" Harry guessed.  
  
"If the senior partners are beginning their push for world domination, then that would be an excellent place to start," Angel replied. "It's one of the five most powerful covens in the Eastern Hemisphere."  
  
"Damn," Harry said, then voiced the more terrifying question. "What about us?"  
  
"No idea," Angel said. "I've had contact with the Mexico City office; they're closest to us. They say that they've had no communication with the senior partners for three months."  
  
"A lie," Harry said, instantly.  
  
"I thought so at first," Angel said. "But its not - our psychics say that the dimensional communications paths haven't been accessed in this hemisphere for at least three months."  
  
"So they were told to start building up three months ago?" Harry asked. "And we're that far behind?"  
  
"Maybe," Angel replied. "But we're sill not sure. There's a meeting in a half hour - I'd suggest you go prepare."  
  
"Good idea," Harry said. He turned to go.  
  
"Hey, Harry," Angel said, Harry stopped and turned. "It's good to have you back with us."  
  
Harry grinned. "It's good to be home."  
  
Harry's office - located two doors down from Angel's - was a nice place. Harry had never really noticed how nice it was, since he didn't really care how nice it was. The oak finishing on everything shined. It was self-cleaning. Harry had added a lot of weaponry to the walls, some as show pieces, others as tools that he used for work. Amongst those things on the wall was Harry's old Hunga Munga, given him by Mad-Eye Moody.  
  
Harry unslung the Sword of Gryffindor from his back and hung it on the modified coat rack that held the Sword, as well as Harry's trench coat. Harry sat at his desk and pressed a button. His in-tray rose out of a hole in the desk. Harry had been gone a week, and his in-tray was now overflowing. It didn't surprise him. Most of this was probably junk. Harry set himself to the task of looking through the shit.  
  
The first three tapes were from corporate advertisers. He dumped them. Most of those damn advertisers didn't have a clue that they were trying to buy from a demonic law firm, or that they were contacting a two hundred year old vampire in the body of a teenage boy whose title was "Head of Special Operations" but really meant "Head Bruiser".   
Harry had practiced that little speech several times for the day that he could finally use it on someone.  
  
The next tapes were from contacts in Europe. Harry popped the three tapes into his computer, which projected the text as a hologram above his desk. Harry read through the messages quickly then tossed them into a file. They were weapons assessments. None of them were terribly important.  
The next two were messages from W&H field operatives. They'd located nests and hives here and there and were reporting back locations and tactical assessments. Harry would have probably gone out to one of them - a class four vampire nest - before dawn, but since there was a meeting, he refrained and filed the two messages under pending.  
That left one tape. There was no label on it. Harry popped it in, and watched as a hologram of a man popped up, apparently standing on his desk. Harry didn't gasp, but he certainly sat forward in his seat, his eyes raised at the person who stood there.  
Harry sat and listened with rapt attention. As the figure spoke, his eyebrows went higher and higher.  
  
Harry walked into the meeting and realized that he was late. The clock at the head of the table read 21:31:42, meaning that he was nearly two minutes late. Harry surveyed those sitting at the table quickly before sitting down.  
Angel sat at the head of the table, looking just the slightest bit annoyed that Harry was late. Next to him sat Miriam, his assistant. She winked at Harry, smiling. Across the table from Miriam was Tysk Kommer, the head of the science division. Tysk's face was passive; Tysk's face was always passive. He acknowledged Harry with a nod. Next to Tysk was Michael Cromwell. Cromwell, head attorney, had inherited very little from his distant ancestor, Charles Gunn, except for perhaps his attitude. He waved. Across from Cromwell sat Julius Charlemagne, a Schmarotzer demon whose evil symbiotic parasite had been removed by Angel. As a result, the demon was prone to over the top expressions of emotion. Now, for instance, the head of the magical division of W&H Los Angeles jumped up and wrapped Harry up in a hug.  
Vampires don't like to be hugged. But Harry, who knew Charlemagne's particular issues, let it go.  
"Sorry I'm late," he said. When Charlemagne didn't let him go, Harry pushed him a bit. "Uh...you can get off now, Julius."  
"Oh, sorry!" Charlemagne exclaimed. "I'm very, very sorry!"  
"Don't worry about it," Harry said, trying to be easy going and failing for the most part. "Just...don't do it again too soon."  
"Okay," Charlemagne said, and quickly resumed his seat, twitching his thumbs.  
Harry sat down at the opposite end of the table from Angel. Angel shuffled his papers and looked around at his staff. "As you all know, we've been expecting a big push from the senior partners for the better part of a century now. Two weeks ago we started receiving intelligence that the push is about to happen. Julius," Angel gestured for the mystical expert to rise.  
Charlemagne rose and touched a button on the table in front of him. A hologram appeared in front of them, depicting a grassy countryside. "Nice, isn't it?" Charlemagne said, and continued before anyone could respond. "This is a magical focal point. Nearly a millennia ago, a group of warlocks met here and attempted to raise demon prince Azara-Megul, but they were thwarted by members of the Gaeta coven. The site has been one of light magic ever since. However, about two weeks ago, this started happening." The image of the countryside changed. The grass was dying and going from green to yellow. "A few members of the coven went out to inspect it. They can feel strong Dark magic beginning to amass there again. This is just one of many.  
"Basically, all the old - in some cases, ancient - Dark focal points are reawakening. Opening up again. Coming alive and spewing their dark mojo all over the place."  
Miriam spoke up. "Sunnydale..." she began.  
"Is being monitored," Angel said. "When I was informed of this, I doubled the team there. There hasn't been any activity, mystical or otherwise, around that crater since the hellmouth there was closed."  
Miriam settled back into her seat, appeased for the moment. Then she swiveled her head. "How is it that I didn't know you ordered that?" she asked.  
" I made the order personally," Angel said. "Direct comm. connection. They only accept orders that come directly from me in Sunnydale, Miriam."  
Miriam's expression darkened a bit. She didn't like to be left out. "Oh," she said, shortly, and left it at that.  
"What's more, we have now received word that troops of the Roman office of Wolfram and Hart are moving against the coven at Gaeta. The force is one hundred thousand strong, and will arrive in Gaeta in one week. A confrontation of this magnitude could literally tear the Italian peninsula apart. And that's just for starters. Tysk."  
Tysk Kommer stood. "Our latest weapon designs are still in their experimental stages, but I believe that field testing of 'experimental' models we receive have already been field tested elsewhere. What's more disturbing then a more accurate, more powerful plasma rifle is the possibility that someone has figured out how to combine anti-photon weaponry with magical distribution delivery canisters. This new weapon would have the ability to cause widespread, long-lasting darkness in an area." Tysk keyed up a hologram showing a town. A small, jet black canister dropped in the middle of the town blotted out the sun. Immediately, the town was overrun with vampires. "The other piece of technology we have to worry about is the latest form of magical artillery. It's basically a shrapnel-napalm delivery. The shell explodes, spreading sharp, flaming metal over a fifty foot area. Open slicing through something, the shrapnel then melts into its liquid form - a type of napalm. Very deadly. Pretty much anything within the blast radius is going to either die or be grievously injured."  
"What about our own weaponry?" Angel asked.  
"We're still using W&H standard issue," Tysk said. "We haven't gotten anything new that wasn't full of bugs in about three years. That means that we're sure of the U-232 Plasma Rifles and the Yeklin Perj Heavy Artillery. We also have the reserves, which have tons of magical weapons, but we don't have nearly enough people rated on those to warrant widespread usage."  
"Do we have any edge here?" Angel asked.  
Harry spoke up at this point. "I just received a rather shocking message that I believe has a large bearing on this issue."  
Angel leaned forward. "What is it, Harry?"  
Harry took out the tape and inserted into the a slot in the table. The holographic emitters once again turned on, and this time projected the figure.  
Angel was out of his seat in an instant. "How?"  
Harry shushed him. "Watch."  
Albus Dumbledore's holographic image began to speak. "Doubtless you have many questions which you want answered, not the least of which, I suppose, is the question of how this message is finding you. The message itself is enchanted to find you at the exact time that it is needed, in the exact form that would be best for your viewing in whatever situation you might be in.  
"This message is reaching you because the forces of Darkness are rising again. Though you have defeated Voldemort, Harry, there are still many Dark forces in the world. There is a map contained here that will lead you to the lost Arc of the Ages. Stored on it is a weapon that I believe you may find useful. However, in order to use the weapon, you will need to complete several requirements. I trust in you, Harry, that you will figure it all out.  
"Good luck, and...well...Godspeed really isn't appropriate now, is it?"  
The holographic figure winked out of existence, and was replaced by a map of Britain.  
"I suppose it's ironic that I was just there," Harry stated. "I wouldn't put it past the old man to have enchanted the thing to appear when I need it most, but can't use it."  
"Try and keep your rancor in check, Harry," Angel said. "This could be huge."  
"Yes, and it could also be a cookbook," Harry muttered. Angel shot him a look, and he quieted down.  
"We can discuss To Serve Man later," Angel said. He looked closer at the map. "Any ideas where that is, exactly?"  
"Looks like it's fairly close to Hogwarts," Tysk commented mildly.  
"Naturally," Harry said, getting serious again. "Where else would Dumbledore hide a weapon of great power? The question is: where in or around Hogwarts is the weapon located?"  
"Ark of the Ages..." Charlemagne mumbled. "Sounds like a boat."  
"The lake?" Angel asked.  
"More than likely," Harry said. "It's a big lake, and the mer-people will do anything for Dumbledore, including hiding a big Ark of the Ages."  
"Okay, I'm going to say that we make this a priority," Angel said, looking around the table for dissent. When he found none, he continued. "As of yesterday, all official Wolfram and Hart overseas travel was restricted. Annual maintenance, they say, but that's a load of bullshit, and we all know it. Harry, I want you to take the Wonder of Angels and sail her to Britain."  
"Are you joking?" Harry asked, incredulous. Before Angel could inquire as to the meaning of the word 'joke', Harry continued. "You want me to sail to Britain? In a two gun pleasure cruiser?"  
"The Wonder is not a pleasure cruiser," Tysk broke in. "She has advanced GPS tracking, has a full load out of heat and aspect seeking missiles and torpedoes, two Regalia-Magnum Heavy Artillery six inchers, and three inch thick quadtanium armor."  
"Harry, any and all air or magical travel will be tracked extensively by the senior partners," Angel said. "At this point, they'll know when you leave and where you go if you travel by Apparition, plane, or Floo."  
"Great," Harry said. "So now I get to spend two weeks on boat."  
"With a bunch of troopers," Angel finished. "You can handpick them; no less than ten."  
"This is the twenty-second fucking century," Harry muttered, the constant American influence showing through his usual British dialogue.  
"Yeah, which means you'll be in a twenty-second fucking century boat," Angel said. "In the mean time, we're going to begin mobilizing the troops here in LA. I want at least twelve divisions ready to fight by the end of the week. Tysk, Julius, put your heads together and figure out how we're going to support an army of this size."  
Charlemagne laughed at this, then sobered when he realized that the boss was serious. "Oh," he said.  
Angel turned to Miriam. "Miriam, I want you to get in contact with all the people on the allies list. Let them know that we're entering a state of war, and that any and all assistance would be both welcome and necessary."  
"The entire list?" Miriam asked. "There goes my week."  
Angel checked his staff. Each was looking as though he or she had received the most grueling assignment. But Angel had yet to pass out the worst yet. "You're all dismissed except Harry," he said. "Harry, I'd like a word with you."  
The members of Wolfram and Hart Los Angeles' executive staff slowly rose and headed for the door, each wondering how he or she was going to accomplish this task. Harry remained behind.  
Angel waited for the door to shut again, then stood. He looked at Harry hard, then turned to the window, which showed that the dark of night was reaching its zenith - sunrise was sill hours away, but both vampires could sense the almost imperceptible change in light and atmosphere that meant the sun was done going down and would soon be coming up.  
"Harry - I've made a decision," Angel began. "We're going to wake Jimmy up."  
Harry's eyes went from wide to positively obese. "What?!" he yelled. "Are you crazy?!"  
"Yes, but that's beside the point," Angel said, attempting to maintain his calm. "Jimmy is probably the most powerful being in the world today, and we could really use his help now..."  
"Who is going to guarantee that he'd even fight for us?" Harry asked. "Considering what we've done to him, I wouldn't be surprised if he killed us all and tore the building down around our corpses."  
"He won't do that," Angel said, conviction in his voice. "Jimmy is a good kid. He may be a bit...wild...but that's understandable."  
"Angel, Jimmy Chaulk is the only person since Bethany to have fully functional TK," Harry said, reviewing facts that Angel already knew. "When she had kids, we kept careful track of them to see when or if her TK gene would reemerge. How many generations did it take? What was that precise genetic combination that was absolutely necessary for a descendant of Bethany to have her TK powers?"  
"I remember!" Angel yelled. "And I remember what happened when we figured that it was mathematically impossible for any of her descendants to have TK."  
"Twelve city blocks," Harry said anyway. If words had physical presence, Harry would have directed his as a drill at Angel's head. "A three year old boy destroyed twelve city blocks and killed three hundred people because he got upset."  
"Can you imagine how much of a help that could be to us?" Angel asked.  
"Or a detriment?" Harry shot back. "Angel, we've had Jimmy on neural depressants ever since the incident. You know that. You know that the drugs we've used on him have severely limited his ability to grow as a person. You know that for the better part of that poor kid's life, he hasn't had any access whatsoever to his higher brain functions, since we had to block them all to keep him from his TK. Good gods, Angel, what happens when he really wakes up for the first time and realizes that he's missed nine years of his life because of us?"  
"He won't," Angel said, quietly. He waited a moment for the wheels to turn in Harry's head, and tried valiantly to ignore the twisted look on Harry's face that kept on twisting.  
"You aren't serious?" Harry asked, though he knew that Angel's limited sense of humor and all-encompassing sense of duty and obligation would not allow him to kid about something as huge as this.  
"Jimmy Chaulk will never know that we've held him prisoner," Angel said. "He will never know that we were the one who kept him from living his own life. We will educate him to fight for us, and then, when he is done, he will be returned to his medication and his living area. You've seen him there - he's happy there."  
Harry stuck his face right in Angel's. "So now ignorance really is bliss, is that right?"  
Harry left the room. He had a journey to prepare for - and the way he saw it, the sooner he was away from the Wolfram and Hart building, the better.  
  
Hey, guys, sorry that I haven't done a cute little author's note in so long. It's just that the story got to be all that mattered - you know how it is. Anyway, here's from LJL, asking you to please, please, oh PLEASE, review my story. The more reviews, the happier I am, which equals faster and better chapter output. Also, if anyone is interested in being my beta, I'd welcome you into the fold. Or crease. Or whatever the damn thing is. You get the picture. Bunker Shorts Forever, Man. 


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